The Australian (Crime Royalty Romance Book 2) (37 page)

I could not hide the truth.

Jace bore down on me still.

I could not bear his wrath.

Surely he could see it was not my fault?

“You fuck him?”

I flinched and my eyes popped open wide.

Ah—
jealousy
.

“No,” I whispered, shaking my head, frightened.

“He put his hands on you? His mouth?” he asked baldly.

“No,” I whispered.

He looked away and muttered, “Then he lives.”

I gasped, knowing in my heart in that moment Jace intended to hurt Sullivan. “But Jace, later on, he tried to help me, to warn me about—”

“Don’t care,” he snapped. “You defending him? Really?”

I kept quiet.

My mind was spinning through
everything
. This only explained part of what happened at the Bellagio pool. Not why he had given me an opportunity to read his emails.

“How did you know about Interpol, and what they wanted me to do?”

He blew air out of his nose. “Charlie, nothing comes in or out of my personal life without scrutiny. That’s something Dmitry taught me from his KGB days. Blaise hid from me longer than most—and the fact that he got to you without me knowing . . .”

Jace’s hands were in fists. “Anyway,” he gritted out. “I looked into Jenny Williams from bookings the day you shacked up with her. Her background didn’t add up. So I had her unit, car, and office bugged.”

“Whoa.”

He continued, “That’s how I knew you didn’t have a clue who she was, and that you were being played. All those times she kept at ya for information. And you were a fuckin’ gas bag. Heard the whole run-up the team gave the night you came over, too.” He nodded at me. “Technology, Charlie. I’ve got some of the best in the business. It’s how I stay ahead.”

I was . . . astonished.

So then he knew when I arrived at his place at the Plaza, what I was setting out to do? And
he
played
me
.

Anger scorched my insides.

“Why didn’t you say anything? Why did you let me . . . suffer?!”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Two reasons, Charlie. I had to take care of your friend B’s problem, so there wasn’t any leverage on you. That took some massive doing. Second, I needed to know I could trust you. You’d said you wanted to break up with me, go be a professor or some sort. Then you set out to spy on me.”

“But that is entirely illogical,” I protested. “We had just been shot at! Moreover, I was being extorted!”

He shook his head. “You were always . . . shutting me out. Don’t deny it either. I needed to be sure you were with me. A man like me has to lock things down. So, yeah, I set it up, gave you a real choice, between standing by me—
and who I am
—or choosing a different life.”

I wiped away my tears.

“I hated hurting you,” I said, desperate to utter those words for so long. “I tried to save you. I should have found the courage to quit, but . . . I couldn’t leave you. I was weak. And so I tried not to get too close to minimize the damage,” I added, though it was perfectly clear he knew all of this.

He stared at me, shook his head, then stared off into the distance.

“You think I’m the one who needed saving. That’s priceless.”

His eyes landed back on me.

I shifted, unable to bear the load. My brain slowly cobbled together events.

“So there never was a meeting with your new . . . organization?”

He titled his head. “Yeah. There were two of them, actually, and you were present at both.”

My mouth popped open. I thought back.

“The man at the poker table?” He said nothing. “And . . . the couple at the fountains?” What had been exchanged while I was busy reading cards or admiring a water show?

But that meant he was still—

“Charlie, I meant what I said before at Ayers Rock. I’ll never do wrong by you, or us.”

I glanced away, uncertain how to reconcile love for a man with a vague moral code. I had no control over his choices. Just as I had had no control over my mother’s choices. Only hers hurt me. I did not believe Jace’s choices would do the same. So far, all his choices had aided me.

“You need me, Charlie. I need you. Sort through it.”

I glanced up into his caves.

“Thank you. For B.”

He looked away.

“But I’m still concerned. Your lawyer said you took care of everything, but Interpol told me B had enraged several loan sharks and that they wanted to make an example out of her.”

“Don’t worry about that. I took care of them. My new contacts have expanded my . . . reach and my reputation. I’ve laid down the law. No one will touch her.”

“Thank you,” I repeated.

“She’s got a real problem.”

I nodded, knowing I would do whatever it took to help her.

“We can get her in a program. I know somewhere, in Sydney.”

Goosebumps spread down my arms. He would move B to Sydney? His kindness stunned me, though, perhaps it shouldn’t have.

“Again, you should have come to me,” he grit out, before I could express more gratitude.

“I was trying to protect B,” I insisted. “I couldn’t tell you.”

“Crikey, Charlie, you all but told me at my place.” He added, “You’re a bloody horrible liar, and I love you for it.”

His words hit me like unexpected kisses. Love. You. For. It.

I met his eyes and let his violet, burgundy and fuchsia pour into me, only it wasn’t just color—it was organic, tangible, entirely irrational, wholly precious.

“And I want to love you and take care of you for the rest of your life,” he added softly.

He glanced away, fighting a smile, before staring back down at me.

I crossed my arms over my chest protectively.

Now that all the dust was settled,
I
was experiencing a negative emotion.

“Still, you should not have set me up and tested me like that. I was arrested.”

He laughed. “Charlie, you had it coming. You
could have
chosen me over your friend.” Jace uncrossed his arms at my glare and maintained his smile. “Like I said, I couldn’t extricate you from Interpol until I found the source of B’s debts, paid them, and put up boundaries. And Charlie, I needed to know where you stood. For real.”

I suppose that was logical.

“So you tricked me into marrying you, showed me information that was dangerous for me to know, and then put me in a situation where my only way back to you was to invoke spousal privilege.”

“Fuckin’ ay.”

He stood before me, smiling down, expectant.

My eyes welled up.

“That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

He grinned ear to ear, and grabbed me, pulled me close into his chest.

“However, you still could have confessed your plan, given us a chance to establish trust, and asked me to marry you properly,” I said, muffled, what with him pressing my face into his chest. I thought how a moment of honesty might have rectified everything last night.

“No chance, Charlie. Think I don’t know you? You’re way too practical. You would have said it was a coupl'a years too soon, am I right?”

I clung to him, choosing not to answer his question.

“Plus, I had to make sure I got what I wanted,” he added.

He was a manipulative, omnipotent man.

But . . .

I felt it then, shining out of me. And I held on tight to him.

All that really mattered was that I was free.

Free to let him in. Free to build a future with him. Free to love him.

And I wondered, in that moment, if my mother would have approved of my choice in a husband—a man who lived by his own definitions of right and wrong. I was reminded of something she would say on occasion, only when she was feeling particularly hopeful about what the world held for her. “The real pleasures in life are both innocent and guilty, Charlie.”

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If you haven’t read The Frenchman, it is available on
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